Tropical Tails (Shifting Sands Resort Collections Book 4) Page 2

  Lorenzo shook his head, desperate now to prove himself. “A hellhound always finds his prey.”

  “Her sweater,” Christy said, handing him a beige cable-knit sweater

  Don’t fail me now, Lorenzo begged his hound, taking it.

  We will not fail, he replied confidently.

  It wasn’t scent, exactly, that led a hellhound to its quarry. It was a trace of who, with a smudge of where, and just the slightest memory of how and when, swirling in the air where they’d been. Once a hellhound had a trail, they never lost it.

  “Show me where you last saw her,” he said, and to his alarm, six of the old ladies wanted to traipse with them to stand outside the ladies water closet. Liam remained anxiously behind with his wheelchair-bound charge, frantically trying to collect up their abandoned bags.

  “It was in here,” Christy said quietly.

  Lorenzo closed his eyes and the world swam into shadows. It was effortless, this time. It didn’t feel like he was fighting for every step. He could walk through walls, breathe fire...for the first time in his life, he was complete.

  He opened them at once. “She’s right here.”

  The elderly women immediately began to scramble around, looking behind trash cans and at the baseboards where a tiny mouse might hide, calling, “Gretta? Gretta, dear!”

  “We’re going to miss our flight!”

  “Darla is waiting for us, Gretta!”

  “No,” Lorenzo corrected. “She’s right here.”

  He pointed at Christy’s rolling case.

  You’d better be right, he warned his hound. But for once, his hellhound was completely confident.

  Everyone stared at Christy’s luggage.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It was open in the restroom!”

  One of the other women started to kneel next to it and reach for the zipper. To everyone’s surprise, Christy snatched it away to her far side. “No!”

  Swiftly, she added, “Not here. Let me go in alone and get her dressed. You stay here. Make sure no one comes in.”

  Then she was clicking away into the bathroom and Lorenzo had to hold himself back from the impulse to chase her right through the wall into the women’s-only sanctuary while the six seniors arranged themselves into a makeshift defensive perimeter.

  Christy’s heart was pounding in her throat as she fled into the women’s room and she paused a moment at the sink to splash some cool water on her face.

  Bad enough that her hasty new hire was a gorgeous man who set her blood very unprofessionally on fire, he was also her mate.

  Her mate.

  She’d just met her mate.

  It was hard to think around her cat’s laser-pointed attention. She had very, very definite ideas of what they should be doing, and an empty washroom would suit her just fine, thank you.

  But it wasn’t an empty bathroom.

  Christy tipped her rolling bag onto the side and unzipped it carefully. The top layer looked undisturbed, and she folded back the evening gown and moved aside the make-up bag. There was the lock-pick set, and the jeweler’s tools, several false ID cards, and all the utilities of her profession.

  Nestled up in a pair of soft gloves was a small brown mouse, still sleeping soundly.

  “Hey, hey, Mrs. Gretta,” she said, picking up the tiny rodent. “Time to wake up and go for a plane ride.”

  A few splashes of water finally roused the little creature, and she yawned, stretched, and shifted into a very naked, very confused old woman. “Goodness,” she said in alarm. “Who are you?”

  Who was she? Would her mate want anything to do with her, if he knew what she did for a living?

  “Never mind that,” Christy said firmly. “You’re on a flight that leaves very soon. Here are your clothes.”

  “Those aren’t my clothes,” she insisted, and for a moment, Christy thought she was going to have to wrestle an unwilling woman into her pants.

  Then Gretta gave a sparkling laugh. “Oh, your face, sweetie! I was gassing you. Let’s see those, then.”

  A stewardess came out of one of the stalls, then, saw Christy helping Gretta step into her leggings, and proceeded to completely ignore them as she washed her hands and fled without asking for explanation.

  “That’s not Gretta!” the stranger was greeted at the door.

  “Let her go, then. Where are your glasses, Maggie?”

  “Do you need help, Christy?” one of them called.

  “Be right out,” Christy sang back.

  She helped settle the sweater over Gretta’s thin shoulders and swiftly zipped her rolling bag back up.

  “Nice lock-pick set,” Gretta observed, to Christy’s dismay, then she was leading the way out of the restroom.

  Christy scrambled to follow, and was drawn up short at the sight of Lorenzo, no less handsome on a second viewing, his dark eyes and his olive skin like temptation given tangible form.

  Her mate.

  They returned to the gate in a daze, surrounded by short, chattering women like a pair of stunned geese in a flock of fluffy hens.

  Liam’s relief was worth every hassle, and Lorenzo’s admiring glances made Christy feel a curious combination of pride and guilt.

  The flight attendant was tight-lipped and terribly unhappy with their tardiness, rushing them out onto the tarmac with the other impatient passengers to board the tiny chartered jet.

  As they showed their tickets and dragged their luggage through marked airport doors and followed painted lines on the tarmac, Christy was keenly aware of Lorenzo, of his sheer presence. He helped some of Liam’s elders with their luggage, utterly unflustered by his sudden advancement from bodyguard to porter.

  There was no opportunity to talk to him, and Christy was dismayed when they were all weighed for balancing the plane, and then seated nearly half the plane apart from each other. He was still putting bags in the overhead for Liam’s charges as she buckled herself in and put her purse under the seat in front of her.

  What would we talk about, anyway? she wondered in despair.

  A crowded little plane was no place to tell him that she was a common cat burglar.

  Then she looked up as a passenger running even later than they had been boarded the plane, and her heart froze in her chest.

  Mick’s goon gave her a knowing smile that showed too many teeth and moved past to sit a few rows behind her.

  It was absolute torture walking past his mate without stopping to...to what? Kiss her? Drag a finger down the side of her beautiful face? She watched him with the same hunger that was raging in his veins, and Lorenzo heard her sigh longingly as he passed her to his assigned seat.

  Lorenzo made himself march further back in the small plane, heaving the luggage of half a dozen seniors up into the overhead storage space as they giggled and shamelessly admired him.

  We can’t protect her from here, his hound wailed when he found his seat.

  She doesn’t need protecting right now, Lorenzo protested. We’re on a tiny plane. Who would hurt her here?

  He had to fold himself uncomfortably into his narrow seat, one knee splayed into the aisle, the other up tight against the seat in front.

  Then all of his hackles stood on end, as one final passenger appeared in the front of the plane, the harried flight attendant pointing him crossly to his seat.

  Lorenzo knew hired muscle when he saw it, and this was not the savory sort. That alone would have had him on high alert, but then the man smiled at Christy, and although it was a knowing look, it was not a friendly knowing look, and he saw Christy shrink into her seat.

  Only the steely look from the flight attendant as he tried to unbuckle, and the certainty that the man would not possibly try something in front of so many witnesses in a place with no escape route, kept him in his seat.

  His gaze did not flicker once from his forward watchfulness, not when they got to cruising altitude and drinks were served, not when anyone attempted to speak to him, and not hours later as everyone got bored and slept restlessly in the little seats. He almost rose to his feet when the man stood, forgetting that he was still wearing his seatbelt. The man came back in the plane to use the facilities rather than forward to where Christy was reading a tablet, and Lorenzo studied him.

  The goon was tall and probably had as much difficulty with the airplane seats as Lorenzo did. He was undoubtedly a shifter, on this flight, but Lorenzo appraised his stride with practiced skill. A fighter, Lorenzo guessed, but a scrapper, not a dancer. The sort to take the damage and try to outlast an enemy. The sort to cheat.

  Well, it would take more than an average fighter to face him down. Lorenzo cracked his knuckles as the man squeezed past, drawing his attention at the last moment and causing a quick flicker of alarm to crack the mercenary’s smug face.

  The man took a long while in the restroom, and when he returned, he approached Lorenzo warily from behind.

  Lorenzo casually tipped his empty drink cup into the aisle just in front of the mercenary to draw his attention. His seatbelt was already free this time, and in one smooth move, he had the man by the neck of his shirt and was hauling him to his knees between the seats.

  It would have undoubtedly captured all of the attention of anyone on the plane who was awake...if one of the elderly ladies had not abruptly woken from sleep and shifted into a bear at that very moment.

  The entire plane went dipping alarmingly to the side, as the carefully calculated weight and balance was suddenly off by seven hundred pounds. Most of the passengers shrieked and clung to their seat arms as the pilot struggled to regain control of their craft. Someone who hadn’t been buckled in fell heavily into the aisle.

  The giant brown bear was the most panicked of all of them, suddenly taking up much more than seat real estate than the si
ngle frail woman had, and she struggled futilely as people around it ducked her flailing claws.

  Lorenzo took advantage of the moment to snarl into the face of the man who had threatened his mate, showing him just a hint of his true nature with blazing red eyes and a whiff of sulphur at the corner of his mouth. It was as far as he ever let himself shift in front of people.

  “You’re a hellhound?” the man said in astonishment.

  More now than ever before.

  “Think,” he warned the man in a low growl. “Think about what you are being paid and how much you are willing to risk for such a payment. Know that if you harm one hair on my mate’s head, I will extract a payment far more dear. I never lose my quarry, my kind does not end a hunt with mercy, and you will suffer everything you have ever dealt five-fold or more at my hands. Think on that and then turn and leave the island the moment you arrive.”

  Understanding dawned in the man’s wide eyes. “Your mate...I had no idea, man.”

  Lorenzo blinked back to his usual dark eyes and swallowed the last of the smoke. “Now you know. Tell your employer.”

  “We’re going to flip over!” someone shrieked. The plane was still wobbling back and forth wildly, and Liam was frantically trying to calm the thrashing bear as he was flung from side to side.

  Lorenzo let go of the man’s collar and settled back into his heaving seat, just as Liam reached the bear and managed to talk her back into sheepish and confused human form.

  Lorenzo met Christy’s bright green eyes over the chaos as she craned back to see him, and the mercenary staggered back to his seat in the steadying plane with an ashen face.

  Christy was one of the first guests off the plane, ushered urgently off by a flight attendant who was clearly reconsidering her career choice, and she waited nervously at the bottom of the stairs. Several alarmed and chattering passengers passed and then Lorenzo was coming down the steps to scoop her into his arms the way that she’d wanted him to from the very first moment she’d seen him.

  “That was a helluva ride,” she squeaked, not realizing she was trembling until she felt Lorenzo’s solid arms around her.

  There was a van that looked like it had seen better days being loaded with luggage and guests, and when Lorenzo finally, reluctantly, let go of her, she saw her own bag being put in. “Oh—” she said in alarm, but it was already in the back of the vehicle.

  Then she looked up into Lorenzo’s face. “I’ve got things to tell you,” she murmured regretfully. “Things you won’t like.”

  “I’ve got a few things of my own to admit,” he said, his voice as thick with contrition as hers.

  A black-haired, bronze-skinned man was closing up the van. “Only our elders are staying behind for the next trip,” he called to them.

  Christy took a look back up the stairs to the plane, confused. Mick’s mercenary hadn’t made an appearance. She hadn’t expected him to make a move in front of others, but she was braced for an uncomfortable accounting the moment she was alone...and desperately glad she had hired Lorenzo for a host of reasons.

  “He’s not coming,” Lorenzo said with a slight smile.

  “You…!”

  “I changed his mind about staying.”

  Christy felt a wave of relief. “I’m giving your bodyguard service a five star review on Yelp if you keep this up.”

  “They’re going to leave without us,” Lorenzo pointed out, grinning down at her.

  He put his hand in hers and they ran for the van as the driver started the engine.

  The brilliantly red-haired woman who greeted them at the counter when they arrived at the resort gave Christy shivers of apprehension. Possibly, her original plan to use the resort as a seat for her work would have to be shelved. She did not think that the resort owner would be amused if Christy stole from her guests.

  The woman introduced herself as Scarlet and asked mildly, “How was your trip?”

  “One of the passengers turned into a bear and nearly crashed the plane,” Christy said frankly.

  Scarlet didn’t even blink. “At least it wasn’t the mammoth.” She gave Lorenzo a steely glare. “I don’t have a record for this guest.”

  “My...bodyguard,” Christy said. My mate, she thought, her cat purring so loudly she was surprised that no one else could hear it. She caught herself smiling hopelessly at Lorenzo.

  Not the slightest bit fooled, Scarlet raised one eyebrow and didn’t comment. “I’ve got some paperwork I’ll need filled out.”

  She did not so much as double-take when Lorenzo wrote down hellhound for his shift form, but she did calmly remind them about the no predation rule. Twice.

  She gave them keys, the old-fashioned kind on big wooden keychains that made Christy salivate—keys were so much easier to crack than keycards—and showed them on the map where their cottage was. Some of the cottages near the top of the island had been marked in pen: ‘private.’

  Then they were back outside, in the tropical morning sunshine filled with the most amazing smells.

  “We could stop at the restaurant if you’re hungry,” Christy suggested half-heartedly.

  “I’m hungry,” Lorenzo growled, and she looked up to realize that he had no interest whatsoever in eating.

  “Me, too,” she agreed with a purr.

  The first fork in the path that gave them privacy was excuse enough to reach for each other, and then, at last, at last, his mouth was claiming hers. He pulled her up against him, one hand at the back of her neck, one at her waist.

  He kissed her and kissed her, until she was on fire and not at all sure where on the resort map they even were, or where their cottage was, or even what country they were in.

  Fortunately, Lorenzo had a better sense of direction. He lifted her up into his arms and seemed utterly prepared to carry her off and leave their luggage on the white gravel walk behind them.

  “Wait, wait,” Christy cried, against his mouth. “I need my bag.”

  He groaned, and reached blindly behind him. His questing hand, hampered by the fact that Christy could simply not stop kissing him, finally found the upright handle of her bag, and then he was carrying her and dragging it, unerringly to the cottage that their key fit into.

  “Wait,” Christy said in sudden agony. “I’m not who you think.” She wasn’t going to start this all off on the wrong foot. “I’m...I’m not a rich trust-fund bunny.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You’re no rabbit. You’re a feline, if I had to guess.”

  “Housecat,” she confessed. “Just a housecat, nothing fancy. Tabby stripes and all.”

  Lorenzo seemed to think that was her confession. “Doesn’t bother me in the slightest…”

  Christy was too weak from her desire not to kiss him again for a long, lingering moment. Then she sighed and pulled away.

  “I’m a thief.”

  Of all the things Lorenzo had expected Christy to reveal, being a thief was not in his top five guesses.

  “Expert job on my heart,” Lorenzo said dryly, reaching for her again. He and his hellhound were absolutely in alignment on what happened next.

  But Christy caught his hands in her own. “No, really,” she said seriously. “I...I’m not a good person. My suitcase is full of fake jewels...and some real ones that aren’t technically mine, and lock-picks, and fake IDs. I’m a liar. A con artist. I...wish I was something better…”

  Lorenzo turned his hands and captured hers in return. “I won’t judge,” he said honestly. “I’m in no place to judge. I’ve certainly stolen my share of things...and…” he heaved a great sigh and drew Christy down beside him on the bed. “You tell me, and I’ll tell you. How did you get started?”

  Christy gave a throaty little laugh. “We were poor, and I didn’t want to be. My mom worked so hard raising me and Betsy, that’s my sister, and I wanted them to have nice things, and a house where things worked in a neighborhood where graffiti and gunshots weren’t the order of the day.”

  Lorenzo rubbed his thumbs on the backs of her hands. “Are you good at it?”

  “So good,” Christy said without a trace of false modesty. “It was little things at first, stud emerald earrings from the place I got a summer job doing landscaping, a bracelet here, a watch. I figured out pretty quick that it’s hard to carry big pieces as a cat, and hard to fence them, too. I also learned that people think they’ve just lost something if you take one of an earring but not both, and that prying out a jewel or two is even less suspect.